


our fallen castles.

by ardeiia



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Drama, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Iwaizumi Hajime Is So Done, Jealous Oikawa Tooru, Novella, POV Oikawa Tooru, Pro Volleyball Player Oikawa Tooru, Reader is a gem, True Love, also bc oikawa doesnt know how to stop being stupid <3, anyway this is one of my fav works, at this point I guess, bc it takes oikawa a century to admit he's in love even tho he himself knows, inspired by truth untold by bts, oikawa x reader - Freeform, pls avoid if you cannot handle death/heavy angst, so I hope u like it as much as I do!!, true mc of this story istg, why? you may ask
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29150493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardeiia/pseuds/ardeiia
Summary: oikawa tooru is like a flame, blazing and hard to put out. ambition runs through his veins, and he’s always been proud of that, has always used it to fuel himself forward; to be the best. but what happens when that very same ambition becomes the gasoline to his inextinguishable flame? when that zealous greed to be better burns away his bridges, including yours?
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru & Reader, Iwaizumi Hajime & Reader, Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader, Iwaizumi Hajime/You, Oikawa Tooru & Reader, Oikawa Tooru/Original Female Character(s), Oikawa Tooru/Reader, Oikawa Tooru/You
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	our fallen castles.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll italicise later, I'm really tired rn and tumblr is rly exhausting me :)
> 
> (cross-posted to tumblr - same username)

Before Iwaizumi, and before you, there is only Oikawa Tooru.

And unexpectedly, or maybe not, Oikawa Tooru, at the age of eight, is a very ambitious child.

Maybe it’s because he’s just been born like that; born with an innate desire to be at the top.

Or it could be because he’s been influenced — his sister a medical student, with many gold medals and equally as many accomplishments to boot; an excellent role model to look up to.

Whatever it is, whatever ignites it, the fact remains that there is a spark inside him, even at such a young age - a need to strive to be better.

In anything and everything.

And so he does.

Academically, he is the apple of his teacher’s eye, always finishing homework on time and never being disruptive. Socially, he’s popular, well-liked, and gets along with everyone in class. He’s well-rounded in every sport he plays, whether it’s basketball, football or even dodgeball.

Ambition usually goes hand in hand with passion, but as of eight years old, Oikawa hasn’t really found anything to be passionate about.

That changes when he’s nine.

(The spark becomes a flame.)

  
  


\-----------

Oikawa picks up volleyball at the age of nine.

He’s walking home from school one day, and sees some older kids playing volleyball in the field next to the river that runs along the west side of his school. One of them calls him over cheerfully when he notices Oikawa staring, beckoning him to come join them. He drops his backpack near the edge of the field immediately and without hesitation, racing toward the volleyball players excitedly.

The boy who calls him over looks to be 16, light brown curly hair and strong dimples. His name is Hansuke.

“You wanna learn how to play, kid?” He asks, tucking the white volleyball under his arm, and grinning at Oikawa invitingly.

And that’s all the motivation he needs, when he has nothing better to do after school, and his parents are both at work until 4; volleyball will keep him entertained till he needs to go.

Besides, learning (and becoming the best at) something new is fun, and what he does best.

So he smiles up at Hansuke eagerly and chimes a “yes!”, the older boy chuckling and slinging an arm around his shoulder as he directs him to where the rest of the players are standing, waiting for Hansuke (or more likely, the volleyball)’s return.

The rest of Hansuke’s team cheerfully agrees to teach Oikawa too, all of them emanating a kind, comfortable vibe. They tell him to watch their practice game for a few minutes, so he’ll sort of get a feel to the game before he actually plays it.

Standing at the sidelines now, Oikawa watches in awe as the players run past each other, passing the ball to each other in clean, effortless moves.

The sport draws him in unlike any other; maybe it’s the way every person has a clear-cut, necessary role, and maybe it’s the way the spikers fly and the liberos glide and the middle-blockers are solid walls.

Maybe it's the one position his eyes seem to linger on, the one that eraptures him the most, the one called ‘setter’, the main control towers. They are the ones who take in everything that happens on the court, and they are the ones who actually launch the main offense.

Oikawa Tooru, at nine years old, decides that volleyball will become a big part of his life. 

He decides that he will become a setter, the best one there will be.

No, he vows it.

(Another spark is added to the first, and a flame is born.)

\------------------------------

  
  
  
  
  


Oikawa bumps into Iwaizumi Hajime by accident.

He’d been at the field yet again, for the nth time, practicing his passes with Hansuke.

Hansuke had curved the ball a little too widely, because it had gone sailing over Oikawa’s head and into the shrubbery behind him.

Oikawa had been sent to get the ball like he’d expected (it was the being younger thing, ugh).

Grumbling, he hadn’t noticed the boy crouching in front of him till he’d tripped over him.

Once Oikawa had sat up, the boy had snapped at him to watch where he was going, turning his attention back to whatever he had been doing prior, which turned out to be a (so far) fruitless battle to catch a blue stag beetle.

Oikawa had laughed once he’d found out what the boy was doing, and the other boy had raised an eyebrow, asking him if he could do better.

Oikawa had taken the bait and consequently failed, but had ended up finding his volleyball in the process. For some reason, he’d invited the boy — Iwaizumi, he’d said his name was — to play volleyball with him, to which he’d grinned and agreed.

(To his credit, Hansuke hadn’t been surprised at all when Oikawa had returned with a whole additional human being.)

  
  


\------------------------------

They are in the field one day, lying on their backs on the grass, out of breath and tired, having just finished their fifth (or was it sixth?) passing practice. 

Hansuke had left a while ago, telling them not to overwork themselves, but Oikawa had wanted to practice a little more, and Iwaizumi had reluctantly agreed. He’d had no choice really, when Oikawa had whined about it for an entire 15 minutes just so he would agree.

With aching muscles and half-lidded eyes, they lie in silence for a while, only the occasional chirping of grasshoppers breaking it.

Oikawa speaks up suddenly, and Iwaizumi looks over at him, “I want to be the best setter.”

Looking at Oikawa quizzically, wondering why he’s repeating what they both already know, Iwaizumi replies, “I know that.”

There’s a shift in the atmosphere, something which makes Iwaizumi really look at Oikawa. There’s a fierce look to his dark brown orbs as he repeats, “No, I’m going to be the best setter.”

Iwaizumi blinks, and grins back just as fiercely, “Then I’ll be the best ace.”

It’s a silent promise that Oikawa intends to keep till the very end.

(the first promise he makes; the first tower of his sandcastle)

  
  


\------------------------------

Right before they enter middle school, or more accurately, the summer before, Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime meet you.

Oikawa has a natural tendency to strive to be the best, or be first in anything he does, and oftentimes, Iwaizumi lets him. Whether it’s a matter of serving, or just eating a popsicle, Oikawa does it first. Iwaizumi simply doesn’t care enough, and so Oikawa is always the first in anything the duo sets out to do.

Unsurprisingly, Oikawa meets you first too.

\------------------------------

The heat of June 2005 is absolutely blistering.

It’s the kind of sweltering heat that leaves an uncomfortable stickiness in the air.

Oikawa sighs agitatedly as he rubs the back of his neck to try to get rid of the sweat that’s gathering there. The sound of cicadas echoes in the background, and he plops down onto the ground to take a break, legs splayed out in front of him.

Stretching a bit as he rests, he glances over at his phone to see it light up with notifications.

Three from his mom, all of which tell him to get home before dark. Two from Iwaizumi, both of which are reproachful in nature, and tell him not to “practice for too long, dumbass.”

Iwaizumi had to stay home to take care of his younger brother today. While Oikawa had tried to get Iwaizumi to bring his younger brother out to play too, he’d been quickly shot down, “No way, it’s too hot, idiot.”

One of the texts is from Hansuke, asking him how his summer and volleyball practice is going.

He’d moved to Tokyo for university a while ago, and many of his volleyball teammates had moved away as well. Before he’d left, he’d clapped Oikawa on the shoulder cheerfully, in that oh so annoyingly joyful way that had grown on Oikawa, and had told him he was proud.

Sincere emotion had filtered through his tone, and Oikawa had smiled, teasing him about being “a little too emotional for his age.”

But he’d appreciated it, and he’d remembered it.

Hansuke had also made him promise to not annoy Iwaizumi as much, to which Oikawa had protested indignantly, “Why do you automatically think I’m the one who’s going to be annoying Iwa-chan? Why not the other way around?”

Iwaizumi, who’d overheard his name, had walked up and while holding out a water bottle to Hansuke, had said, “Because you’re the one named Shittykawa.”

“But you’re the one who named me that! Iwa-chan!”

Reminded of Iwaizumi and Hansuke, Oikawa reaches over and plucks his phone from the ground, typing out a quick “yeah, yeah, grandma~” to Iwaizumi, and then typing out a longer one to Hansuke.

Once done with his task, he gets up and stretches his legs, picking up the volleyball and his bag, making for the shrubbery at the end of the field to find a cooler place to practice.

He decides to head to a small hidden patch of grass sheltered in between some trees, which he’d discovered a few weeks prior when Iwaizumi had yet again been babysitting his brother.

He visits it quite often now, especially on the days he has to practice alone.

Oikawa considers it his own private little spot, a corner of his little world where there’s only him and his volleyball, where no one else intrudes and he can practice without interruption, only the trees and blue roses surrounding the grove privy to his hard work.

Reaching the aforementioned place, he immediately drops his bag to the side, striding forward to the center with his volleyball. 

He halts when he notices he is not the only person frequenting the grove today.

There is a young girl there, looking to be about 11, and the first thing he notices is the popping blue colour of the rose tucked behind her ear. It’s pressed slightly between the tree trunk and her ear as she leans against the tall oak tree at the end of the grove, reading quietly.

The corners of Oikawa’s lips turn downward.

He’d thought no one else knew about this spot; he’d never seen anyone or spotted the hints of another’s presence in all the time he’d been practicing here.

So who was this girl and why was she here?

This was supposed to be his personal training spot.

His hideout.

Oikawa stalks up to the girl — you — indignation at the forefront of his mind. The sweltering heat is making him even more irritable than usual, so all his usual quips and smiles are lost and long forgotten in the summer rays streaming down on him.

You look up as Oikawa’s shadow falls over you, the sun outlining his form from behind.

“Who are you and why are you here?” He asks bluntly, arms crossed as he stares down at you.

“Don’t think that’s any of your business.” You reply, undeterred as you flip to the next page of the book you’re holding.

Irked, his hold on his upper arms tightens, “I’ve never seen you before and I’ve been coming here for a while now, so…”

Trailing off purposefully, he waits for a reply but none comes; you seem to just not be paying attention to him, supposedly invested in your book.

Getting more irritated with each passing second you continue to ignore him, he leans down and tugs the book out of your grip in one swift movement.

You scowl and he frowns right back, turning his back to you so he can take a look at the book you’re seemingly so interested in.

It has a black background, with a badge of some sort drawn on top of it, depicting a bird and an arrow emblazoned in fire. The title reads, “The Hunger Games.” He recalls Makiko talking about it before, but he hadn’t really paid attention to what she was saying. (he doesn’t ever - it’s a common grievance for his sister.)

Turning to give it back to you, he watches as you glare up at him, “Are you done?”

“Yeah, whatever.” He says, dropping the book back onto your lap.

Suddenly too tired to argue, the extra practice finally taking its toll on him (Iwaizumi’s voice echoes in his mind, “dumbass”), he flops down onto the ground, leaning back and using his palms to support him, legs outstretched.

“Can’t you just go?” He asks without looking at you, sighing, “I practice volleyball here.”

“And?”

Oikawa turns his head to look at you, scowling, “I need to focus so I can be better, and I don’t need you distracting me.”

You stare back impassively, “I’m just reading my book in my corner. What’s it to you?”

“Just...I was here first.” 

You raise an eyebrow, “I don’t see your name plastered here anywhere.” 

Ruffling his hair, agitated at your stubbornness, he sighs loudly, “I need to practice a lot. You’re gonna annoy me and get me sidetracked or whatever.”

“There’s no guarantee I’m going to do that.” 

Groaning, he closes his eyes to think of his next argument. Shouldn’t it be impossible for someone to be as annoyingly stubborn as you are?

He doesn’t notice the way your frown loosens just a bit as you take in his tired stance.

Oikawa’s brought out of his mind as you put your book down with a loud thud, and look up at him evenly.

“You know, my big brother played a lot of volleyball.”

“Yeah?” He says, opening one eye to see you staring at him with this look in your eyes that he already knows he’s going to be uncomfortable with.

“I’ve been watching and studying the game since I was young. I could help you.” You offer.

Oikawa turns around to face you fully, surprised, “Why would you wanna help me?”

You study him for a second, then grin teasingly (he’d thought you were incapable).

“I dunno, you seem like you’re in desperate need of it.”

He scowls, but it has no real sharpness to it, and you throw back your head and laugh, the blue rose sliding forward as the brunt of it is pushed against the tree.

It looks beautiful under the sunlight. 

(so do you.)

  
  
  


\------------------------------

At the age of 12, you, Oikawa Tooru, and Iwaizumi Hajime enter Kitagawa Daiichi middle school together.

Oikawa’s known you for a while now, almost half a year, and he doesn’t know whether to feel annoyed or relieved that you’re entering the same middle school he is.

Annoyed, because warding off your stubborn nature is a difficult chore, and added to Iwaizumi’s equally strong-willed temperament, it’s almost impossible. Relieved, because now he’ll have another person to practice with on the days Iwaizumi can’t or refuses to, and as an added bonus, he’ll have a physical barricade next time Iwaizumi wants to throw something at him (the occurrence of this is a lot more regular than you would think). 

(maybe because you’ve grown on him too.)

You’ve been helping Oikawa with volleyball daily, using the knowledge you’ve gained from reading rulebooks on the game and tips you’ve picked up from your brother and his teammates. You sketch a rough outline of his form and scribble simple notes along the side, which you later compare to the rest of your more detailed notes and rulebooks, telling him the analysis of his skills the next day.

You never hold back when you do, laying it out for him in a straightforward manner, one of the (many) things he likes about you.

You are patient, tossing volleyballs to him for as long as he needs, staying and practicing with him till the yellow sun rays fade to burnt orange, dissolving into inky darkness.

Oikawa still doesn’t really understand why you decided to put so much effort into helping someone you just met, but whenever he asks, the only answers he gets are, “I was bored” and “you seemed desperate, so I took pity on you,” both of which are accompanied with a shrug, and none of which he is satisfied with.

  
  


\------------------------------

Middle school finds you and Oikawa slowly getting used to each other’s company.

While the both of you have fallen into a pattern of back and forth bickering, looking over volleyball guidebooks and studying together, you’re still growing accustomed to each other’s habits and quirks.

Oikawa also finds out recently that you’re not a big fan of milk bread, which he’d tried to shove into your mouth once to convince you of said bread’s superiority.

(“Tooru, what the hell are you doing?” 

“You’re cancelled if you don’t realise just how good milk bread is.”

“Wait, stop, mnnf-”

“EW, why are you spitting it out on ME?!”

“Because I don’t like it, idiot!”)

You realise that Oikawa, while he’s well-versed in volleyball and does pretty well on the academic side of things, cannot draw for shit.

You’re idly sketching some flowers one day, and not Oikawa for once, while he’s trying to correct the aim and trajectory of his serve.

Growing bored of constantly doodling flower petals and patterns, and of watching Oikawa attempt the same serve for what seems to be the fiftieth time, you call him over, and he sits down next to you, thinking you’re going to be helping him with his technique.

Instead, he’s roped into drawing, his task being to sketch one of the roses surrounding the grove. Groaning but deciding to comply, he starts sketching as you stare over his shoulder, trying your best to hold back your laughter.

His drawing of a rose ends up looking more like a deformed cabbage, but he doesn’t mind too much, not when you’re throwing back your head and laughing in that uncharacteristically loud and unexpectedly cheery way of yours. 

  
  


\------------------------------

You and Iwaizumi had been introduced to each other through Oikawa, and the both of you had gotten along surprisingly well from the start, growing familiar with each other quickly.

It helped that you bonded over a lot of things; mainly Oikawa.

Oikawa wasn’t too pleased that you got along so well, especially when it ended up in the two of you bullying him. On the other hand, you and Iwaizumi found it all too amusing when you ganged up on Oikawa, something you did and do quite often.

It goes a little something like this:

“Tooru, you idiot, you forgot your bento in the gym again.” You.

“Moron, how do you always forget?” Iwaizumi.

“Stupidkawa.”

“Shittykawa.”

“Idiotkawa.”

“You guys are so mean to me!”

Though you and Iwaizumi get on like a house on fire, Oikawa takes pride in the fact that he is the sole pinned conversation in your Snapchat list and the first person you text “good morning” and “good night” to, the only person who gets the privilege to see your 4 am snaps, the one who’s always the first to hear about any exciting news from your end.

You’d told him once, the summer before middle school, when the two of you had been walking home together. Iwaizumi had turned a corner a while before, and it’d just been you and Oikawa.

There’d been a slight chill in the air then, though it had been nowhere near autumn. Oikawa remembers he’d been talking about playing a prank on Iwaizumi — one involving lots of shaving cream and candy wrappers — and you’d just been listening indulgently, swinging your interlocked hands in front of you.

It’s when you’d been nearing the street to your house that you’d paused, hands unlacing so you could lightly tug on Oikawa’s sleeve.

“Tooru?” He remembers you saying his name quietly, a stark contrast to how it was usually said.

There’d been something about the way you’d said it then, light but unwavering - not a shred of hesitation had been present in your tone of voice. He’d turned to look at you questioningly, raising an eyebrow, russet hues confused at your sudden change in stance.

Your expression had been one that was different than usual, too. Oikawa had never seen you like that before, a smile tinted with affection lacing its way across your features and lifting the corners of your lips gently. 

“You’re my closest friend, you know, and I’m glad we’re friends.” You’d said, with your typical straightforwardness but this time, with out of character fondness. He’d buffered for a second, staring at you in surprise. That had been the first time you hadn’t insulted him when speaking to him, and the first time you’d spoken to him like that.

Surprise had given way to pride, at the fact that he was your closest friend, and he’d grinned widely at your admission, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer as you squinted in annoyance at the way his fingers dug into your shoulder blade.

“I knew it~ There’s no one else but me anyway, (Name)-chan, you’re kind of a loner~” 

The soft expression on your face had been immediately taken over by the one he saw on a daily basis - exasperation. You’d told him that you’d choose Iwaizumi over him any day, but your words had been contradicted by your actions as you’d leaned into his side.

Your warmth had been an excellent distraction from the invisible rope that had started uncomfortably chafing his heart.

\------------------------------

First year of high school and with a stroke of luck, Oikawa finds himself in the same class as both you and Iwaizumi. It’s both an advantage and a disadvantage, as so many other things are concerning the two of you. 

First year passes by quickly, almost too quickly before he realizes it ended.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa end up joining the volleyball team, to no one’s surprise, and you end up joining the art club.

Obviously, Oikawa had tried to convince you to join the volleyball team as their manager to which you’d stared at him blankly, “Putting up with you is already a chore, I don’t wanna have to handle other people.”

Iwaizumi had snorted, smiling, “It’s almost impressive how you manage to work in an insult with every sentence that concerns Shittykawa.” 

Oikawa had huffed and crossed his arms, looking away haughtily, “Y’know, (Name)-chan, at this point, I’m not even affected.”

  
  


\------------------------------

First year of high school, and Oikawa’s volleyball team still ends up losing to stupid Ushijima’s.

It’s when you and Oikawa are sitting quietly in the grove the evening after the match, that he decides that he needs to work harder.

The sky is a bruised canvas that evening, the setting sun hidden behind swatches of swollen purples and inky blues not unlike the shade of a black eye. Your little grove is completely silent save for the sounds of your sighs and the occasional ‘cheep’ of sparrows as they fly about overhead.

Iwaizumi had gone home early, a few hours after the match, having to take care of his brother.

Before he’d left, he’d clapped Oikawa on the back once and nodded, their silent promise from years ago brought to the front of their minds. 

“Practice tomorrow at 6 am?” Iwa had asked, olive green eyes searching Oikawa’s expression which had smoothed out into one of hardened resolve as he’d agreed. 

The very same expression is still there as Oikawa settles against the big oak tree to the south, separated from you, where you’re sitting near the south, by a wide patch of open grass.

Oikawa’s chocolate brown strands are tumbling into his eyes, but he’s unbothered. He has his age-old blue and white volleyball with him, the one Hansuke had left to him, which he’s pushing back and forth idly with one hand, ombre eyes on the ball but mind a million miles away.

You’re sitting cross-legged to his right, playing with the blue roses surrounding the grove, lazily threading the stems together, just trying to keep your fingers and your mind busy. Neither of you speak. 

The silence is deafening.

“We’re gonna win next year.” Oikawa voices suddenly, breaking the blanket of quiet that had been wrapped around your little spot.

You snap to attention, looking at him in surprise.

“We’re going to practice more and work harder, and then we will win.” Oikawa says, looking up at you firmly, the colors of the evening sky highlighting him, solidifying his form and his words.

There’s something in your eyes that he doesn’t bother to identify at that moment, as you turn to face him fully, “I believe in you, Tooru.”

Oikawa pauses for a minute, really stops, and takes that in.

You believe in him. No one’s ever believed in him before, nor has anyone ever voiced it out loud, transformed it from abstract thought to tangible reality.

With Iwaizumi, it is a silent understanding, an unspoken reliance on each other’s skills and their combined prowess. Rarely has anyone said they believed in him; he’s usually the one who reassures his teammates with big smiles and cheerful words, promises built on conviction in the strength of six in their entirety.

You’re looking at him right now like you have full faith in him, like you know with full certainty, that he will win. It’s rare for you to say anything without completely meaning it, and your straightforward honesty makes him believe what you believe: that he can win.

(He doesn’t know it then, and neither do you, but those words coil around his heart tightly.)

You pause, then add, “Besides, Ushiwaka doesn’t have anything on you, Tooru.”

The fierce edge of determination to him is dulled as he protests, “This isn’t about me. It’s about our team as a whole.”

You laugh and grin fondly as Oikawa whines about how you never understand him; vengeful, obsessive thoughts of winning now forgotten in the aftermath of your light-hearted words.

  
  
  
  
  


\------------------------------

By his second year of high school, Oikawa has made it a habit to persistently be by your side.

He doesn’t know why, but he feels the constant need to be in your presence. Iwaizumi’s branded him as a “shitty ass stalker” for this very reason, while both Matsukawa and Hanamaki think he has a crush.

Oikawa’s response to all this is, with a flip of his wavy brown hair: “If anything, (Name)-chan’s the one who would have a crush on me.”

He’s met with deadpan expressions, all of which indicate no one believes him.

And honestly, he doesn’t think he has a crush, he just enjoys being around you. Your blunt honesty is something he can’t get enough of; compared to the rest of the school, who feel intimidated by his aura or try to make nice with him just because he’s popular.

Amongst all of them, you're like a rose in a field of dandelions, and Oikawa Tooru lives for it.

There’s a sudden, loud burst of chatter from around him, and he startles, thoughts getting jumbled and lost in the loud buzz of his very talkative classmates. Their excited prattling is so loud he can’t hear himself speak, let alone think.

Sighing, Oikawa gets out of his seat and makes his way outside the class, weaving through groups of people, smiling politely as he does. 

Once outside, he leans against the wall, and lets some air escape him as he taps his foot impatiently, waiting for you to come to class.

The hallway is empty and mostly dark and shadowed (this part of the school doesn’t have electrical lights installed due to recent renovation which, in Oikawa’s opinion, wasn’t really needed, because Seijoh’s school building was much prettier than Shiratorizawa’s anyway).

Only some areas are clearly visible thanks to the afternoon sunlight streaming through the few windows that line the hallway; Oikawa can’t help but compare them to the phrase, “light in the dark,” which unconsciously, as cheesy as it is, leads him to think about you.

You still haven’t made it to class yet, though you are always one of the first ones to arrive, and he can’t help but get worried, carding his hand through chocolate brown curls in quick, rugged motions. 

Oikawa’s stopped before he can get too worked up by the sound of footsteps echoing through the vast emptiness of the hallway.

He looks up just as you start speaking, confusion lining your words, “Tooru? What are you doing outside?” 

Oikawa looks you up and down - you don’t seem like you woke up late, uniform neat, ironed and tucked in. Gaze sliding to the person next to you, he narrows his eyes when he sees who you’re standing next to. Serizawa Haruto, captain of Seijoh’s soccer team, and current all-around asshole.

Oikawa moves away from the wall he was leaning against, regarding Serizawa coolly, though he speaks to you, “(Name)-chan, let’s go, class is starting.”

You raise your eyebrows, “I am coming. Besides, class hasn’t started yet anyway.”

Serizawa chimes in then, hawk-like features pulled into a taunting expression, “Think she can speak for herself, Oikawa.”

Annoyance sears across his veins, and he can hear his blood pumping as it rushes to his head, because there is something about you next to Serizawa that irritates him beyond belief. But before he can say anything, you push away from Serizawa and walk to him, grabbing his arm and pulling him along firmly.

He still manages to get in an insult including a freshman prank involving Serizawa, and a well-crafted jab at how the soccer team hasn’t won more than a few games since Serizawa became captain.

Oikawa lets himself get pulled away to wherever you’re leading him, which turns out to be an empty classroom a few doors down from your own.

Striding in, you let go of his arm and turn to face him just as the door closes behind you, the loud thud ringing through the vacant classroom.

Crossing your arms, your gaze bores into him, “What was that for?”

Oikawa plays dumb, though it’s futile against you, as it’s always been, “What was what for?”

You sigh through your nose, “Don’t play dumb, Tooru. You know what.”

Oikawa leans back on the desk behind, bracing the flat of his palms against the smooth, polished wood of a desk.

“Serizawa Haruto is an asshole,” is the only explanation he offers up, and he watches as your entire expression immediately dips to one of utter exasperation.

“He is not. Besides, I can talk to who I want.” You say, stance firm and unwavering as you stand in front of him.

“Not him.” Oikawa shakes his head stubbornly, brown curls bouncing as he does.

Annoyance spreads across your face, plain as day, for you’ve never been one to hide your emotions.

But seeing such blatant annoyance directed toward him from you makes anger flare up inside Oikawa, boiling in the pit of his stomach as you voice your obvious grievance with him.

“I don’t know why you have to be so difficult all the time,” You pause, as if hesitant, but you’ve never been one to hold back. The next words that come out of your mouth only serve to further fuel his anger, “Is it because of the match yesterday? Is that why you’re so easily irritable today?”

The tension in the air between the two of you transitions from a hazy balminess to crackling electricity.

Now in the last few weeks of his second year of high school, Oikawa had become relentless in his pursuit for Nationals.

Yesterday had been the match against Shiratorizawa, and like last year, they had lost. 

Today, in his morning classes, people had surrounded him and flocked around him, some bearing bento boxes, some bearing flowers (this isn’t a hospital, but okay, he’ll roll with it), others with kind words and affectionate touches, but all of them pitying the team (him).

He could tell.

Vexation had simmered underneath his skin, but his smile had been firmly in place.

But that same irritation that has been building up since the morning fuels the anger spiralling through his veins, and the strain of keeping a smile on his face for the entirety of the day takes its toll.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Oikawa says, and though his tone of voice is cool, expression neutral, his entire posture is rigid, shoulders stiff.

Your firm stance easens up but he doesn’t care right now. You’re the one who started this.

You step forward, and he watches you, stonily silent.

“Look, Tooru, I know you must be frustrated right now, and I understand how you’re feeling. Just-”

Oikawa cuts you off before you can say anything else, eyes flashing and burning umber.

“You don’t know anything. Of all people, you’re the one who wouldn’t know how I feel at all.”

You recoil, and hurt streaks across your expression akin to a violent flash of lightning in the midst of a stormy grey sky.

“That’s not fair,” you say, voice uneven, but once he’s started, Oikawa can’t stop.

Because where do you get off telling him you understand when you’re the one who gave up on your own dreams so easily?

“You dropped art as a career the minute your parents told you to, you can never stand up to them, you just have no goal. What’re you gonna do after high school, huh? Run away? No, you’re probably going to end up mindlessly following the life your parents set out for you. When you can’t even think for yourself, how can you say you understand?”

His heart is thundering against his ribcage from the exertion of saying all that in one breath, and some wicked, cruel part of him is almost reveling in the distress in your eyes, because this is what you get when you push him all the time.

The minute you spit out a “fuck you” and exit the classroom, whatever little bit of satisfaction he was feeling is instantly replaced with regret, because hurting you is one of the last things Oikawa ever wanted to do.

But it’s exactly what he did.

(that’s when he realizes he doesn’t want to hurt you again, doesn’t want to lash out, so he starts smiling more; the second tower of his sandcastle rises up)

\------------------------------

It’s been three days since the fight.

Oikawa taps his chopsticks against the side of his bento thoughtfully, chewing his sushi silently as he listens to Hanamaki and Mastukawa babble on about some anime they’d started watching recently, “Haiku” or something, but he’s barely paying attention.

You and Iwaizumi are sitting further away, with you resolutely facing the opposite direction, likely making sure to not look anywhere near him.

The others definitely noticed something was up when you and Iwaizumi started sitting apart from the usual group, and the fact that you and Oikawa don’t have your usual, easy rapport going; Oikawa makes sure to get you to sit next to him every single lunch period, always stealing some of your food or ruffling your hair to annoy you while you’re eating, or asking you to feed him (you never do unfortunately).

Iwaizumi’s gaze flickers between the two of you every so often, but he doesn’t say anything.

Oikawa knows he’s gonna get his fair share of scolding from Iwa’s end soon though.

Initially, he thinks you don't seem as affected by your little spat as he is, talking to Iwaizumi with bright (e/c) eyes.

But he looks a little closer, and there’s the slightest weariness to your smile and uneasiness to your eyes that makes him realize you’re just as every bit affected he is.

For all your constant grievances, you and Oikawa have never fought before, not even once.

This is your first fight, and Oikawa doesn’t like it.

Not one bit.

His chopsticks drum against the bento quickly; he’s fidgeting and he knows it. 

Your gaze darts toward him for just a second, but then flits away just as quickly, as if you don't want to look at him for any longer.

A disquieting feeling tugs at him, one he can’t quite place, but he hates it.

He hates this awkward, tension-filled distance between you.

Finishing up the last of his food, expression neutral as he can make it, he doesn’t notice Iwaizumi glancing at him.

Oikawa is pulled aside by Iwaizumi right before class, just like he expected.

Mattsun and Makki drag you forward as Oikawa lingers behind with Iwaizumi, standing underneath the giant cherry tree in the school yard.

Oikawa smiles at him cheerfully, “What's up, Iwa-chan~? Want one-on-one advice on how to get the girls~?”

Iwaizumi stares at him with a deadpan expression, and Oikawa grins wider, “Or, you know, you could swing the other way. I’m not judgmental~”

Iwa smacks him then, which he again expected (Iwaizumi’s become predictable at this point), and crosses his arms.

“What’d you do, Shittykawa?”

“Why does everyone always assume I’m the one who did something?”

“Because you’re the one named Shittykawa.”

Oikawa is hit with a sense of nostalgia then, and the remembrance of an argument much the same, and Iwaizumi’s stern expression gives way.

“Oikawa, you hurt her.”

He thinks of feigning confusion, but one glance at the hard look in Iwaizumi’s eyes and he thinks better, “Yeah.”

“Own up to it. Admit it.”

There’s the pushing again.

Oikawa groans in annoyance, ruffling his hair, “Fine, I know, all right? I know.”

He doesn’t say the full sentence, but Iwaizumi understands the unspoken words hovering between them, the regret he doesn’t voice.

Oikawa’s always been good at observing and reading people, and he knows how badly what he said affected you, especially since he just vocalized the truth in the harshest way possible.

You don’t deserve this from him.

He, especially, doesn’t deserve you.

“Do something about it then.” Iwaizumi says, clasping him on the shoulder in his own way of comfort before heading to class.

\------------------------------

The argument is really what makes Oikawa realize that he likes you.

He realises he misses you on the first day, when no one sends him good morning and good night texts, when no one calls him up at ungodly hours in the morning to excitedly ramble about a new book.

He realises he doesn’t want to ever not talk to you again when you pass by him in the school hallway on the second day, and ignore him completely even as he’s looking right at you.

The notion that he may have a crush on you, put forth by Makki and Mattsun so long ago, is actualised on the third day.

Oikawa had been at the library, studying for an English Literature final coming up, sitting at a round table in a hidden corner of the library, which he’d chosen specifically to avoid any more screaming fangirls than he’d already dealt with.

He thinks he’d been extra tired from practice that day (he hadn’t gotten much sleep the day before either, too busy turning and tossing because of nightmares concerning you).

He’d slowly nodded off as he was going through some particularly boring comprehension exercise.

Oikawa had stirred awake some 10 minutes after to find himself slouched over the table, head resting on crossed arms, some random worksheet stuck to his cheek, a little bit of saliva gathered at the corner of his mouth.

(If only his fanclub could’ve seen him at that moment. Their expressions would’ve been worth seeing.)

Shifting slightly, he’d attempted to get up when he’d realised there’d been something on top of him.

Sitting up straight, he’d shrugged it off to turn it over in his hands, and that’s when he’d realised why the material seemed so familiar.

It had been your hoodie.

There’d been a weird feeling in his chest after, an airy sort of lightness that had made him incredibly uncomfortable.

He’d thought back to what Hanamaki and Matsukawa had said — that he had a crush.

Oikawa had wanted to dismiss the thought (having a crush on you, the annoyingly stubborn girl who’d stolen his spot? unthinkable), but then Iwaizumi’s voice, on cue, had rung through his mind, “think on it properly, shittykawa.”

So he’d thought.

Did he feel weird when you laughed because of a joke he made? No. (yes)

Did he smile every time he saw you smile? No. (yes)

Did he want to kiss you every time you stared at him blankly? No. (yes)

(even oikawa himself thinks he’s being oddly specific)

No, he doesn’t really think he does.

(more accurately, he banishes the thought to the very recess of his brain, buries it.)

Oikawa makes it up to you on the fourth day, with lots of popsicles, pouts and apologies. 

You give in after the first two hours of Oikawa following you around and ostentatiously begging for forgiveness.

He really does mean what he says in his apologies though, and he knows you see that he’s sincere, otherwise he would probably have had to apologize for a year, until his throat and wallet would run dry.

But the way you give in, the instant forgiveness that had seemingly been ready at the tip of your tongue makes him think that you might like him too.

Because as blunt as you are with your words, you’re equally as blunt with your emotions, and Oikawa’s always been good at reading those, especially yours.

But Oikawa Tooru doesn’t want to open up to the possibility of a relationship right now, not when he’s this close to making it to Nationals, when he’s this close to achieving what he’s always wanted.

So he never asks you, and as straightforward as you are, you never mention it either.

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


His third and final year of high school finds Oikawa focused on one thing and one thing only: winning against Shiratorizawa and going to Nationals.

He is relentless; practicing every day without fail, the only break he takes being Monday.

Oikawa Tooru practices so determinedly that the movements are engraved into his being, but it doesn’t matter, in the end.

End of third year, Seijoh loses to Shiratorizawa the first try, then Karasuno the second.

They lose.

He loses.

It’s when he’s at home, two or so days after the match, that he realizes he hasn’t seen you in a while.

Oikawa had been avoiding you, at first, ignoring your messages and calls, and then, they’d just stopped.

You’d probably figured he needed space, but right now, sitting on the cold hardwood floor of his bedroom with his heart in his throat and his lashes fringed with teardrops, Oikawa wants nothing more than for you to hug him, to feel your familiar warmth surround him.

And at that exact moment, like some cruel twist of fate, his phone lights up, your display name prominent on the screen along with your profile photo.

He reaches out, hand trembling slightly as he debates whether or not to swipe right.

The urge to pick up is all too real; to let the disappointment, self-loathing, frustration he feels be washed away with your voice, your words, even if it’ll only be for a minute.

(he’d choose one minute with you over anything else. the thought is terrifying.)

Then he remembers himself - he remembers who he is.

He is Oikawa Tooru, bound for unattainable heights, bound to attain them.

Being vulnerable, especially in front of you, will make him dependent, and being dependent will slow him down, make him weak, and will leave him in the dust while his competition will race ahead.

He is already behind in this metaphorical (or maybe not) race, he already doesn’t have natural born wings to guide him.

And this will be just another hindrance, another rope of lead weighing him down.

Being dependent, wanting to spend more time with you, will leave less time for volleyball.

Though he tries to convince himself that that’s the reason why he won’t return your calls (and partially it is), the real reason is slowly pushing its way forward to the front of his mind.

Some part of him says it’s because he doesn’t want to worry you, but he thinks that’s just the fragment of every human conscience that tries to morally defend their actions and thoughts.

Really, it’s because he doesn’t want to show you this part of himself.

Doesn’t want to show you this Oikawa Tooru.

The one who has tears of frustration stinging his eyes, an ugly scowl twisting his face, and hatred, both for himself and many others, burning through his veins.

This ugly, greedy, desperate part of himself, the one that is ready to plow down anyone who stands in his path, do anything he can, so he can get to where he wants to be - the top.

(it’s his reasoning that if the two of you get any closer than you already are, you’ll want more.

he can’t give more. he won’t. because what he could have given, especially time, is to be put into volleyball. that’s how it’s always been and how it will always be. that's how he wants it to be. no exceptions.)

So he squashes down the need to hear you, the need to talk to you, pretends it was never there, and turns away from his phone, staring into the vastness of his darkened room resolutely, willing himself to be him again.

\-------------------------------

Graduation approaches, and with it, the inexplicable but expected fear of separation.

Oikawa Tooru is eighteen years old when he realizes the sentiment of just “going their separate ways” is one he hates.

Day of graduation, he’s flitting around amiably, person to person, social circle to circle, chatting with Haruka from Class 3, Kazunari from Class 5, Amari from Class 1; you name them, Oikawa knows them.

He’s very conscious of yours and Iwaizumi’s eyes on him, watching him from where the two of you are standing near the tree you frequent, used to frequent so often during lunch.

Its large maple-like leaves cast rippling shadows across your faces, fitting the current mood since both you and Iwaizumi are silent, drinking in the last of each other’s presence.

Oikawa had been a little too off the day before, a little too touchy, too talkative, too hyper.

By now, you and Iwaizumi had come to recognize all these little signs for what they were: an attempt for Oikawa to hold on a little longer.

He’d been nervous, trying to make the most of the time you had left before you went your separate ways.

Today though, today, he is calm. He’s doing what he does best - smiling. Running away. Avoiding.

He hasn’t talked to either of you in the entirety of today; he doesn’t want to make the current reality feel any more tangible than it already is.

Iwaizumi comes to him before the ceremony is over, but you stay where you are, under the tree, (e/c) eyes soft and watchful.

Oikawa supposes that’s how it’s always been - Iwaizumi coming to find him, you leaving him to come find you, giving him the space and the time he needs.

Iwa claps him on the back, and they hug, and when they part, both their eyes meet in a silent understanding of sorts, and Oikawa smiles genuinely for what seems to be the first time in years.

Iwaizumi leaves early, and Oikawa turns around to greet one of his teachers, hoping you will be gone by the time the graduation ceremony is over, but he knows you won’t be.

And he’s right, because by the time it ends, you are still underneath the same tree, leaning against it with your arms crossed, just observing him with that look in your eyes he oh so hates (he has to ask himself if he really does. the answer is no).

Oikawa walks over to you slowly, still smiling, though it’s a bit muted now, a bit dulled now; courtesy of the sharp blade known as fear.

Fear that this will be too hard for him.

Saying goodbye to you.

Because this is the last goodbye he will ever say.

At least for a long time.

(he doesn’t know how true this will be and how much he’ll regret it then)

Over the years, you’d become more than just the stubborn girl he’d met in a grove surrounded by blue flowers.

You’d become the person his eyes unconsciously sought out in a crowd.

The person he immediately turned to after he’d won a game, hickory brown hues lighting up every time he spotted you cheering for him.

You’re the one person whose presence he’s unintentionally come to search for the minute he wakes up and right before he goes to sleep, the one person whose voice, whose words soothe some of the tension that makes its’ home in his shoulders and the frustration that eats away at his soul.

Oikawa doesn’t really want to see this for what it is, doesn’t want to see it for what it can be.

He thinks right now at least, this is nothing more than a high school crush. A silly infatuation, if you will.

One he does not have the time nor need for.

So, he thinks the best thing for the two of you (but really for him) is a break. He has plans to go to San Juan anyway.

Oikawa simply doesn’t have the space, the opportunity to give you or a relationship time - he’ll be in a different timezone, a different culture, a different way of life, and he’ll have to balance all that with studying and volleyball.

(in this instance, volleyball takes precedence.)

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Oikawa reaches you then and for a while, the two of you are silent, you just quietly studying him with a small smile curling your lips while he etches your face into his memory, imprints it.

“I’ll miss you.” You say, smiling but he knows you know what he’s going to say next; you’ve never been the best at observation, just a little too good at knowing him.

“Aww, I’ll miss you too, (Name)-chan.” Oikawa smiles, and the fakeness of it falls away.

He holds out his arms and you step into them willingly, and he folds you against him, melds you against him, presses the feel of you deep into his brain, ingrains the familiar floral scent you have into the recess of his conscience.

And then you sigh against him in that weird little half-hum, half-sigh you do, and the breeze whisks your hair into his face, and he chickens out.

Oikawa can’t do it.

He just buries his nose into your hair, tugs you a little tighter, and you don’t complain or wince, though you do pinch his back.

But that’s just you.

“Get off me already.” You say playfully, and your expression seems lighter now that the slight apprehension has drained away, now that he hasn’t spoken what he was thinking into being.

Oikawa pulls back just a little and takes you in one last time - the quirk of your lips, the way your eyes are soft as you look at him, the way your hair is whipping around your face but you’re making no move to fix it, probably too lazy to.

(his heart hurts.)

He lets go of you, and you pull away, instead looping an arm through his and pulling him toward the gates. He faintly hears you saying something along the lines of “let’s get popsicles, you’re like 5o popsicles in debt to me, did you know?”

Oikawa is honestly barely hearing anything you’re saying.

All he can think about is that this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a plane to San Juan, Argentina.

And the one thought at the very forefront of Oikawa’s mind is that he doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to leave you.

The thought is scary, to let go of an opportunity he’s been working toward, an opportunity to be even more, to be the best, because of a single person.

Oikawa Tooru doesn’t ever want to hurt you but the hold you involuntarily have on him is frightening.

But the longer he stares at you as you babble about some book you’re reading, the more he doesn’t want to leave you, the more he wants to stay.

The thought is frightening.

(the thought of getting too close, being too vulnerable; the third tower of his sandcastle is built)

  
  


\-------------------------------

(Oikawa Tooru leaves for San Juan, Argentina, at 3:37 pm the very next day.

You don’t find out till a day after.

Iwaizumi is silent as he watches you take in the news.

You don’t leave your room for a day.)

  
  
  


\-------------------------------

The rain always makes him a little restless, he knows this. 

It’s raining now. 

Water droplets dance around playfully on the small blue roses Oikawa’s been growing in his little window garden, gliding from one petal to another until they eventually slide off and make their home in the soil.

The small living room Oikawa’s currently sitting is bathed in a dull grey light, the open curtains letting the dreariness of the stormy sky outside seep into the room.

Sitting on the white chaise lounge right next to the wide floor length windows, Oikawa stares outside blankly.

Each drop that lands against his pristine white window sill aligns with every restless tap of his fingers as he drums them on his good knee, every unsteady thud of his heart against his ribcage. 

Oikawa knows exactly why he gets so fidgety and nervous every time it rains, and today, for the first time in a long while, it’s raining in hot and humid San Juan.

His jaw is clenched a little too tightly, dark brown orbs murky, clogged up with emotions, thoughts and memories he doesn’t want to dwell on.

It had been raining exactly like this that time too - his first year here.

_Raindrops card through his hair, wet chocolate brown locks clinging to the side of his face in limp strands._

_The sound of your voice, to him, is louder than the pitter-patter of the rain as it descends on to the cobblestone streets of San Juan._

_“Hello? Tooru? Are you there?”_

_The phone screen is slowly being glazed over with a thin sheen of water as Oikawa clutches it to his ear so tight his knuckles begin turning white._

_You must have realized what state of mind he’s in right now, because you go silent for a bit, only the sounds of static crackling audible._

_“Where are you?” You ask, worry prominent in your voices._

_“San Juan.” He says in an attempt to be playful, but it sounds off even to his own ears, tired and weary and far from what he was going for._

_You let out a little half-laugh though, and the corners of his lips involuntarily quirk up at the familiar sound._

_“No, I mean, are you outside your apartment?” Some of the concern has eased up from your tone - your voice sounds lighter._

_A pang of nostalgia hits him; he hasn’t seen your face in so long._

_You’re silent now, waiting for his reply._

_“Mmhmm, yeah, I’m not at home right now. I was out practicing.”_

_You start talking about how you’re going to search up the weather for San Juan right now, and exclaim in surprise when you see it’s raining, asking him why he was out training in such bad weather._

_Oikawa listens to you with a small smile; he just wants you to keep on talking, he just wants to hear your voice. For him, it’s comparable to the warm sunlight tinged with petrichor after rain turns to sunlight._

_That’s what you do for him too, turn his rain to sunlight._

_Ever since this morning, there’s been a heaviness sinking into the pit of his stomach, like a lump of lead sinking to the bottom of the ocean._

_Oikawa had been practicing, practicing, practicing. For weeks on end. And yet, he still can’t get this one serve right, though he’s been working at it for so long he’s sure the very movements are burned into his subconscious._

_The feeling of never being good enough comes back full-force today._

_What’s the point of vigorous training, when naturally talented people could achieve after minutes of practice what he couldn’t even achieve after weeks and weeks of training?_

_Oikawa wonders, sometimes, why he even tries._

_But just listening to you makes him feel better, if only for now._

_Oikawa Tooru is as impulsive as wildfire, and it really shows during moments like these._

_“Hey, (Name)?” He interrupts your current tirade of concern about his lifestyle, and you hush, “I love you.”_

_It’s quiet for a full minute._

_He counts every ten seconds, standing there underneath the white awning of the flower shop near his apartment, trying not to get any more soaked than he already is._

_Two seconds after it hits sixty seconds, you speak up softly, and he can practically imagine the expression you must be making right now, “I love you too.”_

_Warmth fans out through him, from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his toes, and his orbs soften until they’re just pools of warm chocolate._

_He hasn’t heard that from you in a long time. He didn’t realise he’d needed to hear it so badly._

_It seems you’re thinking the same thing, because you speak up, voice crackling just a bit as the connection falters, “Was it practice again?”_

_His silence is answer enough apparently because you continue, “You know, Tooru, I’ve said this before, but you’re too hard on yourself. And I know you’re thinking that you **need** to be, in order to be better, but that’s never how it works and that’s certainly not going to work for you.”_

_You take a deep breath, as if to prepare for what you’re about to say next, which is probably going to be lengthy. Oikawa smiles unconsciously at the thought of you preparing to chastise him. He’s even missed the scolding._

_There’s a certain gentleness to your tone that he can sense even through the shitty phone call quality as you continue what you were saying, “You need to give yourself room to **breathe**. Maybe you don’t have the natural born talent or the skill set or whatever, and that’s okay, Tooru, it really is. Because that just means you have more room to grow and improve, more room to be better. You can’t expect yourself to improve at the same rate those people do, but you can try. Just - just don’t overwork yourself or put too much pressure on yourself. Because I promise you, that won’t help. What **will** help is if you practice to the best of your ability and allow yourself some freedom of thought, some escape from this pressure you put on yourself. It’ll make all the difference, Tooru, trust me. Besides,” and here you pause, but only for a few seconds, “I believe in you. And I do so for a reason, because I **know** you can do it. You just have to believe in yourself too.”_

_It feels like the heaviness that had been roiling at the bottom of his stomach has now moved up to his oesophagus, because it feels like there’s something lodged at the back of his throat now_

_It’s honestly scary - the impact a single person can have, a single phone call can make._

_It’s honestly scary when he realises how much he loves you (this is the first time he admits it and the realisation is bittersweet, because for now, he can’t do anything about it)._

_It’s honestly scary how badly he wants to buy a ticket back to Japan right now._

_Oikawa’s voice is thick with emotion when he speaks, “Thank you, (Name). I…” He clears his throat, “I have to go now.”_

_He hangs up the call before you can say anything else, looking up. The blue flower painted on the underside of the awning he’s beneath catches his eye, and impulsively, he turns around to enter the flower shop._

_That’s the day he buys the seeds for the blue roses and sows them._

_It’s also the day he last hears your voice._

_There’d been hurried texts after that, lots of attempts to try to call again, but your schedules just never lined up, he’d just never found the time to pick up, as hard as he’d tried at first._

_And then there had been complete radio silence._

_(the fire --his zealous ambition-- blazed, and his sandcastle started becoming a castle of glass.)_

A wave of intense longing coupled with nostalgia crashes over him then, and he lowers his gaze from the window.

Oikawa gets up slowly and draws the curtains closed, but the sound of rain is still audible, like thunder against the roof and window.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The first thing Oikawa takes note of the minute he steps on to Japanese soil is the smell of petrichor lingering in the air.

The light autumn breeze dances playfully with his hair, making the dark brown strands fly in all directions.

He closes his eyes and takes it all in - the scent of Japanese food, the sound of rushing vehicles on the nearby highway, the joyful yelling of people as they reunite.

It feels good to be home again.

Oikawa makes his way outside to the arrival zone, weaving through crowds of people hurriedly, excitement coursing through him at the prospect of meeting you and Iwaizumi after so long.

He had slowly drifted apart from the two of you after he’d moved abroad, countless calls from both you and Iwaizumi missed due to volleyball and university, until the slew of calls had died down. He thinks it’s been too long since he’s annoyed Iwaizumi, too long since he’s last heard you laugh.

Eagerly, he bounces on the balls of his feet, chocolate brown hues flickering with anticipation as he waits for a taxi to pull up in front of him.

It’s really been too long.

* * *

The taxi drops Oikawa off at the address Iwaizumi had sent him, which turns out to be a wide field of open grass.

Wondering why Iwaizumi wanted to meet him at this unfamiliar place, he grabs his suitcase from the trunk, pays the taxi driver and waits by the side of the road patiently, looking around for any clues as to why Iwaizumi would have made him come here.

Oikawa drums his fingertips along the handle of his suitcase, the steel of the handlebar cool against the pads of his fingers.

He counts again, every ten seconds.

It’s a habit he’s picked up since San Juan, one he uses to pass the time when he’s bored or to calm himself down when he gets too worked up.

Oikawa counts up to three minutes when there’s a call of his name, and he looks up to see Iwaizumi waving at him as he walks toward him.

The minute Oikawa catches sight of Iwaizumi, he’s laughing, dropping his suitcase where it is and walking up to him quickly.

Iwaizumi smiles fondly as he sees Oikawa run up, and the two embrace quickly. Oikawa pulls away, grinning widely, “Iwa-chan, you look even more like a gorilla now!” 

Surprisingly, there’s no smack to the head, only Iwaizumi shaking his own. There’s something off about his expression, and Oikawa’s grin falters as he takes in the sombre look in Iwa’s eyes.

An uneasiness begins to gnaw at him, and he asks Iwaizumi what’s wrong. “Oikawa, (Name)...” Iwaizumi begins, voice fading away as he loses his resolve. 

“Oh, yeah, where is (Name)-chan? I can’t believe she didn’t come to meet me! She hasn’t even picked up my calls!” Oikawa pouts, but the uneasiness is giving way to panic now.

Iwaizumi says nothing in response, instead turning the direction he’d come from and motioning for Oikawa to follow him.

Confused, Oikawa follows Iwaizumi silently, trying to quell the anxiety swirling in his chest. He starts counting again, the mundane task calming.

_Ten, twenty, thirty._

They’re coming to flat ground now, and there seems to be something sticking up out of the ground ahead.

_Fourty, fifty, sixty._

It’s a tombstone? Iwaizumi turns to him with, expression despondent. Oikawa reads the name before he can even say anything.

_No._

Engraved on the tombstone is the quote, “Maybe I’ll see you in another life, if this one wasn’t enough.” Below that are the words: “Here lies (Last Name)(Name), loving daughter and loyal friend; forever shall you be remembered.”

Oikawa goes numb.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It’s started raining again, a light drizzle.

Oikawa’s clothes are already damp, but he doesn’t really care. He’s impervious to the raindrops sliding through his hair and down the side of his face, impervious to the occasional splash of water on his clothes as a car whizzes by, to the loud honks of cars to his right.

The only thing on his mind is the tombstone he just saw. Your name is branded to the inside of his eyelids and it’s all he can see. You’re all he can think of right now. 

He remembers backing away from the grave as if it had burned him, gaze wild and unfocused as he asked Iwaizumi if this was a joke. The minute he’d looked at Iwaizumi’s expression, he’d known.

It wasn’t.

He’d turned and started walking in the other direction, eyes blank, no idea where he was going. The only thing he’d wanted to do was to get away from the reminder of your death as soon as possible.

Oikawa had wandered aimlessly for a while, until eventually his feet carried him to a familiar place from years ago, one filled with countless more memories and reminders of you.

He’s leaning against the familiar oak tree that used to be your resting spot, face lowered, gaze focused on the blue roses that bloom in patches along the side of the tree. The rain starts pelting down faster, and the roses droop under the weight of the water drops. They look sorrowful, and the image of you from so long ago, with a blue rose in your hair is instantly soaked in grey.

And that’s when his carefully constructed dam, which had already been so fragile, breaks.

Shivers run through his body in tandem with his sobs, and he leans his head back and drowns in the feeling of water pouring down on him.

Is this where his ambition has gotten him? He hadn’t talked to you in years, a big part of which had been his fault: the different time zones, university, his constant volleyball practices and later, league games.

He’d thought, he’d thought if he could achieve what he wanted to, if he could just get to where he wanted to be in life, then he could take all the time in the world with you.

He’d thought it’d be okay if he wasn’t able to pick up your calls, if he couldn’t answer your texts, because you were you and you’d understand. Your bond was unbreakable, and he’d had full faith he could come back and pick up where things left off.

So he’d ignored a few calls that came during practice, cleared a few notifications that had appeared during the extent of a game with the full intent he’d reply later. He never did. But he hadn’t paid much mind to it, because being in a pro volleyball team and being at the top had been all he wanted since he was young. Surely you could wait, couldn’t you?

After all, he had forever with you. He hadn’t known just how impossibly wrong he was back then.

Oikawa had thought giving in to his ambition for once, striving to do his very best, just like you’d told him would mean he’d ultimately win at life. He’d have what he’d wanted since forever and then he could give you forever.

He thinks about all those missed calls now, all the missed texts. Thinks about the fact that he’s never going to see you smile again, never hear your voice again, never see you laugh.

Oikawa Tooru won’t ever see you breathe again.

The thought is unbearable, and cuts into his heart, embeds itself there like a broken shard of glass.

He could have had so much more with you: he could have kissed you, married you, been so much more for you.

Instead, he hadn’t even bothered to contact you.

The tears don’t stop for a while; they continue till his face feels as numb as his heart.

The rain stops after a bit, and a soft breeze picks up. The blue roses you’d so loved sway softly in the breeze and he can’t help but be reminded of you, can’t help but remember your laugh.

But you are no longer there to laugh for him. The roses slump after the breeze dies down.

_(Oikawa Tooru retreats into himself after; to have you ripped away from him, all because of his ceaseless ambition is too hard for him to handle. his already fragile castle of sand, his isolated sanctuary, hardens into glass.)_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> to anyone who reads this:
> 
> thank you so much for taking out the time to read this?? and if you comment, know that I love you, undoubtedly. comments are great motivators and I'd love to read yours, even if they're just keyboard smashes <3


End file.
